Peter's Problem
by Lia Galanodel
Summary: Rated for swearing and punishment. Based off of A Christmas Carol and the family of the Cratchits. Peter's developed a bit of a problem with theft...


A/N- Basically wrote this after playing Peter Cratchit in A Christmas Carol and realizing the potential for a good spanking that he had. I had even joked with the people playing Mr. and Mrs. Cratchit and had some fun on closing night by creating some mischief during one of our scenes.Tehe...  
  
I ran through the multitude of people filling the London streets. I was a poor boy with a quick mind and quicker hands, which were calloused and blistered from the winter work I'd been doing for an income of a few pence every week. My mother, younger sister, and brother were at home while my father and older sister were at their own jobs. I, however, was in the midst of a chase which originated back at my job.  
  
It had all started innocently enough. I had been doing my work, like a good lad, when my overseer stormed outside to us from his office. The other men hastened to the work, which was shovelling horse shit manure, sorry, before he appeared in front of us. We stopped our work and turned to him. There were five of us, but the imposing figure was our better and we had to be respectful. He came straight over to me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me back in the direction of his office. Needless to say, I was a bit confused.  
  
"Sir? Wha's goin' on?" I asked. He looked down at me, fuming with fire in his eyes and opened the door. I stepped inside and he dragged me to his desk.  
  
"I will tell you why you are here, Peter Cratchit," he spat, expressing his anger. "You've been pinching the profits again. Do you remember what I said would happen if you ever did that again?"  
  
I gulped. Of course I remembered! It isn't hard to forget when your employer promises to send you to prison. I tried to look relatively contrite.  
  
"A-aye sir," I hesitated before agreeing. He looked almost happy. I guess it isn't everyday he gets to throw a hard-working 15 year old lad into the prison. I crossed my arms and looked up at the strong man semi- defiantly. I wasn't going without a fight.  
  
Suddenly, the door opened and two constables walked into the office. They were large and muscular, compared to myself, and took me by my arms. Or, should I say, tried. What I was lacking in strength, I made up for in speed and managed to slip through their grasp. I made a break for it through the door, and thus began the chase which was about to come to a close.  
  
I dodged quickly into an alley-way and started taking all the shortcuts I knew. Finally, after a good ten minutes solid running, I lost them in the busy alleys and bustling streets of Christmas-time London. Wondering how I was supposed to keep out of sight for the rest of my life, I quietly skulked my way back home.  
  
I knew something was wrong right away as I walked in the door of our house. Instead of the usual cooking and cleaning of my sister and mother, I was greeted by the gruff voice of the head-constable.  
  
"Ah, young Master Peter arrives home after a hard day of work. I daresay you were paid well for your work, weren't you?" My eyes bulged and my throat became dry. I sent a look of pleading to my mother before noticing her looking twice as menacing. While the constable was busy sizing me up, my mother went from rage to tears. I watched dumbstruck as she managed to plead our case to the constable about how it's so close to Christmas and they would most likely starve if I were to go to jail. The crying and pleading of my mother finally convinced the constable to release the charges, with the warning of much more severe punishment if I were to get in trouble again. Then, the gruff man left and I was alone with my menacing mother.  
  
If looks could kill I would have died a hundred deaths as Mother glared at me. I couldn't help but gulp as I noticed my younger sister Belinda hasten to the fire and my younger brother Tim try to help Belinda with the food, just to escape the explosion waiting to happen. One look at Mother's face was enough to tell me that I would not be sitting down easy once Father arrived home.  
  
"Peter Thomas Cratchit, if I were ten times stronger, God help me, I would tan the skin off your hide and burn your thieving fingers to ash! What in God's name were you thinking? That you would help by getting yourself thrown in jail to rot while your father works long and hard in that pit of despair just to find your bail money? By God if it weren't for Belinda and Tim being here I would go mad with all the inane and stupid load of things you pull. I ought to take you out and flog you within an inch of your life. You just wait until your father comes home, Peter Thomas, and then you will learn what happens when lads get too big for their britches and start thieving to make a living. I thought we taught you better!"  
  
SMACK  
  
The sound of her hand against my left cheek. I stand there shocked at her outburst and amazed by how much her hand hurt. She turned and started stirring the stew in the pot with a new vigour, while Belinda and Tim looked on just as astonished as I was. I swallowed and tried to maintain my pride as I walked past her and climbed the ladder to the loft where my siblings and I slept.  
  
Once up there, I took out my knife and continued my carving of a growling wolf I was making for Tim's Christmas present. My shame gave way to my anger and I began to carve fast and almost haphazardly. A great deal of time later, I heard the front door open and my mother greet my father. I listened carefully to what she said and laid down my work.  
  
"Robert, your son has been caught thieving again and it took all I could manage to keep him from being put in prison." By the sound of it, I would think she was crying.  
  
"Shh. my dear, everything is alright. You did your part very well indeed, and he is not in prison, thank our merciful Lord. You keep on with Belinda and Tim, and I shall make sure our Peter doesn't do it again." Father was speaking very quietly, which told me two things. First, he's very concerned for Mother's health and second, I was in much more trouble than I originally thought.  
  
Our father is a very gentle man. He controls his emotions on the inside and the quieter he gets the angrier he is. Therefore, when I heard his voice which was akin to a loud whisper, I couldn't help but shudder.  
  
"Peter Thomas Cratchit, I would have a word with you." My fate was sealed as I heard him clear off the kitchen table. "Now."  
  
I immediately got up and made my way slowly down the ladder. He seemed to be waiting for me. "Fetch the belt, Peter Thomas." I nodded weakly. I was almost amazed that my body was responding, because my brain was paralysed with fear. I couldn't speak or think, I simply did. I went and retrieved the thick leather belt from its peg on the wall and carried it with me as I made my way to my father. He took it from me and gestured to the now clean table. I knew what to do, having been strapped before, and waited for the nod.  
  
"My dear, if perhaps you and the children would care to busy yourselves elsewhere, it would spare you of this situation," Father said and nodded to me once everyone had left.  
  
Biting my lip, I took down my trousers and undergarments and bent over the side of the table. I grabbed the other side to brace myself, and could see two heads peeking out from the side of the loft. I clasped my eyes shut tightly, knowing that my younger siblings were watching; Belinda with delight and Tim with apprehension. My annoying younger sister always enjoyed my punishments, and more so when they weren't her fault.  
  
I heard my father clear his throat and felt him line up the belt with my arse. When the leather left my skin, I braced myself and held my breath.  
  
SMACK!  
  
I gasped when the first stroke connected. Father surely wasn't pulling the blows, and the stinging from his belt was more than I had expected. It didn't take long for the second stroke to cascade upon my arse, which was then followed by a third in quick succession. I was starting to have problems controlling my gasps which were becoming increasingly louder. By the fourth and the fifth I couldn't help but let the silent tears streak down my cheeks.  
  
"Now, Peter Thomas, you are being whipped for your thievery of 85 pence from your workplace," Father said without hesitating with the sixth and seventh strokes and quickly proceeding to the eighth. "Understand, my son, that were it not for your mother's good reputation, you-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Would-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Be-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"In-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"JAIL!"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Right now!" He exclaimed, increasing the strength behind the blows as well as the volume of the words. Had I not been sobbing, I would have been as flabbergasted as my brother and sister that Father was loosing his temper while belting me. Were I concentraiting upon anything but the pain and the words themselves, I might have even tried to scamper away, but that simply was not going to happen.  
  
"Do you understand me, lad?" My father asked while plastering another red stripe across my arse.  
  
"Yes, sir!" I heard myself shout through my tears and pain. I had hoped that would be the end of it, but apparently he was very serious when he said he was going to make sure it never happened again.  
  
"You will never lay a finger on something that does not belong to you!"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"N-no sir!" I agreed, hoping that if I said something he would stop sooner.  
  
SMACK!  
  
"You are hereforth confined to the house. If you so much as lay a foot outside, my lad, you will be receiving another belting. You are to help your mother and your sister during the day, and I will decide what you will do during the evenings."  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Do-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"I-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Make-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Myself-"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Clear?"  
  
SMACK!  
  
"Yes! Yes sir! I understand!" I yelled through my wails and shouts of pain. Finally, I heard my father set the belt down and go sit in his chair. I was left to finish crying across the table, and I heard my mother enter the room. I was oblivious for a good five minutes while I cried and once I had calmed down I pulled my trousers back up. I took a rag and wiped my tears from the table and reset everything that had been moved off.  
  
I turned to go to the loft when I heard my father speak my name.  
  
"Peter," he said softly. I looked over and noticed him motion me over. When I went over to him he looked deep into my eyes. "I want you to know that your mother and I love you very much. But you must learn to think before you act. The last thing in the world we want to happen to you is to be put in prison for 85 miserable pence. It is not your place to worry about money, we will manage, no matter what happens. But I am serious, boy. No more theft. I don't even want to hear of you knicking Belinda's nightcap. Understand?"  
  
I smiled a little and nodded seriously. "Aye, sir, I understand."  
  
"Good. Now, you go take a bit of a lie down and I'll see if I can convince your mother to let you have a bit of tea before supper," He smiled, got up, and let me curl up in his chair with one of his books.  
  
"Aye, thank you Father." 


End file.
